


Whatever You Need

by Rurouni_Idoru



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dry Humping, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Quiet Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing a Bed, Spooning, because they are not as discreet as they think they are, not discussing feelings, pining while dry humping at least, unconscious miracles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26314414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rurouni_Idoru/pseuds/Rurouni_Idoru
Summary: Crowley could always be counted upon to help Aziraphale salvage an embarrassing situation.Alternately: There's Only One Bed in This Sleeper Car.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 221





	Whatever You Need

**Author's Note:**

> A big, big thanks to all the anonymous folks who helped me out with this one. You know who you are! (And I don't, or I'd name names!)

After exchanging the requisite “hello”s and “what a funny coincidence running into you here”s, the first thing Aziraphale had said to Crowley was, “I might be in a spot of trouble.” 

The thing of it was, that Aziraphale hadn't gone into this with an adequate knowledge of how this whole train situation worked. It was still reasonably new, after all, so he thought he could be forgiven for not knowing the specifics. So when he'd miracled himself a ticket, he had failed to take into account that this was an overnight journey, and that he had resolved only the issue of being allowed on the train, and not the issue of whether there was room to accommodate him. While normally, Aziraphale would have fixed this problem with another click of his fingers, Heaven still seemed rather tetchy about the issue of frivolous miracles from the century prior. Now here he was, on what was essentially a miracle budget, with nowhere to properly stay all night, and Crowley, predictably, teasing him insufferably about it.

Aziraphale was two-thirds of the way through outlining his elaborate plan to continually move about the train throughout the night without arousing suspicion when Crowley made one of his exasperated Crowley-noises and offered to let Aziraphale bunk with him.

So, Aziraphale found himself sat on a bench-seat turned bed, as Crowley fussed with a pillow in a manner that had long since gone past fluffing it and had moved into the realm of grievous downy harm. They had both shed their overgarments, lounging companionably in only their shirts and underthings, as seemed to be customary. Aziraphale had brought a bit of bedtime reading with him, and was overall very pleased with how things seemed to have turned out. Crowley could always be counted upon to help Aziraphale salvage an embarrassing situation.

Upon lying down, face buried in his much-abused pillow, Crowley spent at least two full minutes shifting around, as if calculating the perfect, most comfortable position, adjusting the placement of his limbs, the pillow beneath his head, and the exact angle at which he placed his torso. Then, after about thirty seconds of stillness, he rolled over completely to look at Aziraphale again.

“You’re not seriously planning to sit up reading all night?”

“I don't tend to make a habit of sleeping,” said Aziraphale, a trifle defensively. 

“The whole reason you’re here is so you don’t have to miracle every nearby human into thinking you’re not suspicious,” Crowley protested. “There's nothing for it except to at least pretend like you're sleeping, and that's so dead boring you might as well actually sleep.” Aziraphale sighed deeply, mostly on principle. “Anyway, sleeping is fun,” Crowley continued, shrugging. “You have dreams, they don't make any blessed sense when you wake up, s'great.”

Aziraphale sighed again, this time primarily just for the sake of it. Of course Crowley thought he should actually sleep; Crowley adored a nap. Aziraphale had once seen him snoozing in a tree, coiled up into a neat little pile and draped perfectly across a limb. Which would have been unremarkable, had he been in serpent form at the time, but given the limbs, it had actually been a rather impressive sight.

“I suppose you have a point,” Aziraphale conceded, marking his place in his book with a ribbon before closing it up and sliding it out of the way.

“‘Course I have a point,” said Crowley, budging over to make a scant few inches more room for Aziraphale. “Made of points, aren’t I? Extremely pointy.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, clicked his tongue, and definitely did not purposefully jab Crowley with his elbow for that stupid joke as he lay down.

The bunk was more than a little cramped, with the two of them in it. That was fine, Aziraphale didn’t mind terribly, though he thought it might become a problem for Crowley. He did tend to flop about in his sleep, ever-restless even when resting. After a bit of trial, error, and mutual grumbling about elbows, they arrived upon the only comfortable position that seemed viable: both of them on their sides, facing the same direction. Which was nice, actually, not that Aziraphale would say so out loud. He found he rather liked an excuse to have Crowley snuggled up against his chest, drawing a suspiciously-comfortable blanket over the both of them before settling in to sleep.

Or, well. It  _ was _ nice. Had been nice. Until Aziraphale let his mind linger on how nice it was just a little too long. How warm Crowley was, how unexpectedly soft he felt in places, how pleasant he smelled, up this close.

In retrospect, perhaps he should have stopped making an effort before they had started getting ready for bed. But now, mortifyingly, said effort was making itself very known, insisting its approval of all those affectionate thoughts about Crowley and then some, and oh Lord,  _ Crowley could probably feel that. _

He attempted to distance himself, to scoot his hips backward and away from Crowley’s backside, in the hopes of hanging on to even some miniscule shred of propriety and dignity, for Heaven’s sake. But there was not very much room to maneuver in, and what’s more, Crowley himself didn’t let him get that far: he placed a hand, gentle but firm, on Aziraphale’s thigh.

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley said, softly, and for a split second, Aziraphale thought perhaps either one or both of them had gone mad. How could Crowley say such a ludicrous thing, especially while  _ his hand _ was thoroughly exacerbating matters by resting on  _ Aziraphale’s thigh? _ “Close proximity. These things happen. It’s alright.” And then, Crowley shifted position just slightly, settling backward just enough to rub the spare curve of his behind over Aziraphale’s now-obvious erection.

_ Oh. _

Oh, that was deliberate.

That was an invitation.

Crowley's hand flexed, squeezing the meat of Aziraphale's leg for only an instant. He adjusted again, shifting the weight on those infernal hips once more, dragging tantalizingly across the hard, straining bulge in Aziraphale's underwear.

“It’s alright, angel,” Crowley repeated, but his voice was thready and strained in a way that clearly had nothing to do with courtesy for the other passengers.

Any reader as avid as Aziraphale was capable of reading between these lines. So much was being said without a word.  _ I want this, _ Crowley told him without speaking,  _ and I know you want this, too. _

Crowley had always had a knack for tempting him into things he already wanted. Tentatively, Aziraphale thrust forward against him, and Crowley slowly circled his hips in response.

Oh, dear.

Aziraphale swallowed a moan, transmuting it into a hard exhale through his nose. There were humans, sleeping or resting, in every other berth in the car. A porter might happen through at any time. The blanket draped over the two of them was a help, but not much of one. If this were to happen (and Aziraphale was very sure it was going to happen; was in fact already happening), it was important they make very little noise, beyond the soft sounds of shifting fabric, and their own breathing. They would have to be quite discreet, if they were to avoid being caught.

Sort of the whole Arrangement in miniature, really.

“Can I,” Aziraphale whispered, but there wasn’t really a back half to that question, not one that Aziraphale could say out loud.

“Whatever you need, angel.”  _ There _ was a statement treading on dangerous territory. Aziraphale could think of a lot of things he might be able to convince himself he needed from Crowley right now. Though most of them were thoroughly indecent. 

At present, he had the self-control to settle for wrapping his arm around Crowley’s chest, pressing them closer together. Carefully, slowly, Aziraphale began rocking against Crowley in earnest. He felt, rather than heard, Crowley’s minute gasp as a finger skated over his nipple. While that hadn't been the intended reaction, Aziraphale certainly found it very arresting, and he wanted to… 

Well, he wanted  _ Crowley _ to… 

That is to say, he wanted for both of them to… 

At any rate, it was worth seeking out again; a small liberty to take, all things considered here, and he ran his thumb, deliberately this time, over the same spot. Crowley twisted and writhed in place slightly, which felt far better against Aziraphale’s prick than it rightly should have. The increased friction was excellent, of course, but it was also the knowledge that, whatever this was, it wasn’t entirely one-sided. It wasn’t another begrudgingly indulgent favor from Crowley to his presumably-favorite rubbish angel: he was getting something out of this, as well. Crowley’s nipple tightened to a stiff, peaked bud, and he exhaled sharply when Aziraphale switched tactics and gently pinched it, rolling it between his fingers as he rolled his hips against Crowley’s wriggling behind.

_ Whatever you need _ , Crowley had said. Aziraphale could have throttled him. What sort of a thing was that, to say to someone? Particularly in this sort of position, as a sexual invitation. It was as though he was trying to leave Aziraphale no recourse.

_ Whatever you want _ would have been one thing. Aziraphale  _ wanted _ a great deal. What would Crowley say, if Aziraphale, pressing into Crowley's bum like this, admitted that what he really wanted was to roll the both of them over, to pull open their clothes and fuck into Crowley properly until they were both satisfied? To know what the word  _ angel _ tasted like when Crowley moaned it against his tongue? To see the expression in Crowley’s gorgeous golden eyes as he shook apart and spilled over?

The terrifying thing was that Crowley might very well say yes. It made Aziraphale tingle all over to imagine it; his thrusts stuttering and losing their rhythm for a moment.

Perhaps  _ whatever you want _ would be too much. But  _ whatever you need _ was unfair. What was Aziraphale meant to do with that, when he couldn't say it aloud?

_ I need  _ you, _ Crowley. _

Dizzily, Aziraphale bit his lip to keep silent. Never mind what he needed; he would be greedy to ask for any more than this. Still rutting against Crowley’s arching back, Aziraphale shifted, nosing around the back of Crowley’s neck to whisper into his ear.

“May I…?” But again, there was no acceptable way to finish that sentence verbally. Instead, he slowly moved his shaking hand down the front of Crowley’s torso, lingering meaningfully over the flat planes of his stomach. With a quiet, almost anguished hiss, Crowley laid his hand over Aziraphale's, and guided it decisively downward to rest on his own hard cock. A dark, syrupy thrill surged up through Aziraphale: it felt so terribly  _ right, _ to hold him like this. It was so damnably  _ easy, _ so sweet and intoxicating. Crowley’s leg stole backwards, hooking behind Aziraphale’s knees to press them together impossibly closer as Aziraphale began stroking through Crowley’s drawers. 

_ Yes _ was suddenly the only thought left in Aziraphale’s head.  _ Oh God, yes. _

The existence of Aziraphale’s universe narrowed to the goings-on under this miracled blanket on this crowded sleeper car. His own idiot prick, pushing furiously ahead on dull instinct, pressing into the warmth of Crowley's body and trying to find an opening where there was none. Crowley’s cock in his grasp, rigid and blood-hot even through his underthings. The all-consuming, overwhelming need to get somehow _ closer, _ both of them pulling at the other with desperate, tense limbs.

It was uncivilized, dirty, and base, and yet transcendental. Somehow both far too much and not nearly enough.

Perhaps it might have been embarrassing how quickly he was approaching his climax, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It couldn't be helped; he couldn't possibly hold together under the circumstances. To have even so much as this, this furtive, groping  _ frottage _ under covers and over clothes, would have been practically unthinkable even an hour ago.

Of course, Aziraphale had thought about it regardless, and plenty more besides. Would certainly be doing so again in future, bringing himself off to the memory of this exact frenzied moment.

The memory of Crowley letting him—

No, of Crowley  _ asking _ him—

Of Crowley  _ wanting— _

_ Crowley wanting— _

Aziraphale smothered his quiet cry into the crook of Crowley’s shoulder as he came. Crowley made a tiny, bitten-off  _ nng _ noise, that, again, was more present as a soft vibration through his body than as actual sound. Crowley's prick jumped in Aziraphale's loosened grasp, as though it had a mind of its own and had figured out what had just happened. If only he'd been paying closer attention, maybe Aziraphale could slip his hand into Crowley's drawers and do this properly, actually touch Crowley’s hot flesh with his own. But as it was, he couldn’t figure out the closure by blind touch alone, so he resigned himself to continue working Crowley’s straining cock through his underthings, a bit faster now.

After a few moments, Crowley tensed and curled up in on himself, panting. Under his hand, Aziraphale felt Crowley's prick pulse and twitch, and warm wetness spattered over Aziraphale’s hand and blossomed quickly across Crowley’s underwear. Aziraphale shivered with it: making Crowley come was so blissfully satisfying it almost felt like having another, smaller orgasm, like an echo of the previous one. 

Crowley seemed to be shaking. Or perhaps they were both shaking. It was difficult to tell, what with the shaking and all. Their chests both heaved, hearts not yet done pounding, gasping in lungfuls of air that they didn’t even strictly need, and yet instinctually craved now all the same.

It was strange, what these bodies could learn to need.

Still trembling, Crowley raised a hand to wave it with practiced, studied laziness, and all at once they were both clean and dry once more.

“Alright?” he murmured, in a voice that was almost halfway convincingly casual. As though Aziraphale had just tripped and collided with him, as though this were some normal event, as though they hadn’t just brought each other to shuddering orgasm.

Aziraphale managed a stiff nod and what he hoped was a smile. “Much better,” he admitted, to his own appalled horror.

“Get some sleep, yeah?” Again, like it was nothing, like they could just go back to normal after this. Perhaps they could. Perhaps Crowley could, at least. Aziraphale could only gaze wistfully at normal from some distant shore and reminisce about the time they had spent together, before he’d developed this lustful affection for someone who was, nominally, his sworn enemy. Suddenly a bit self-conscious about…  _ all this, _ Aziraphale started to pull his arm back from where it was still wrapped around Crowley.

“Leave it,” said Crowley, once again waving a lazy hand and once again nearly, but not quite, sounding like he wasn't just as wrecked as Aziraphale. “It's fine. Whatever's… comfortable.”

Aziraphale probably should have protested, all things considered, but he had never been especially good at denying himself coziness. It was still nice to have Crowley nestled in so close. So he dropped his arm, letting it settle pleasantly around Crowley's middle.

“Good night,” he mumbled at the back of Crowley's head by way of acknowledgement.

“Night, angel.”

Not for the first time, and undoubtedly not the last, Aziraphale regarded Crowley, and thought, simply,  _ Oh, I might be in trouble. _


End file.
